Crashing Angels and Faulty Experiments
by Aimlessly Unknown
Summary: SUPERWHOLOCK. Wherein two hunters, a consulting detective, an army doctor, an alien, and a married couple try to make it work. /"Sherlock Holmes, put that gun away!"/
1. Tag and First Meetings

Summary: A day in the life of the Consulting Hunter Lords. /"Doctor, stop bothering Castiel; he is _not _a meta-plasmic-transformer! Don't you roll your eyes Sherlock Holmes, if I find one more finger in the soup; I'm going to kill you!"/

**This is a gift for my two best friends on here, **_timelucked_** and **_aladyofallfandomseve**,**_**they're both great people and authors and you should love them like I do.**

**I LOVE YOU. If you couldn't tell.  
**

/

Sherlock Holmes had a migraine.

Actually, that wasn't fair to say; he didn't have _just_ _one _migraine—

"Dean, I do not understand; do you wish me to locate Waldo because he is a demon?"

"No, Cas, it's just a game!"

"Ponds, come look; it's a meta-plasmic-transformer! I haven't seen one in about three hundred years!"

"Actually, Doctor, that's just Cas – he's an angel. Y'know, a warrior of god?"

—he had seven. Each with their own list of issues long enough to send most psychologists running – or, at least, it would if they weren't so adverse to letting psychologists _near _them. Not that a psychologist would want to go near them – one of them was a notorious biter.

"I'm starved." Said biter complained, resting her head on her husband's shoulder blades. Rory turned from his position in front of the cutting board – where several sliced tomatoes lied.

"I'll have some food ready soon; but if you grab the strainer from the cupboard – it'll be done earlier." He told his wife, smiling. The pasta would take another thirty minutes to make (including the sauce) but if he gave Amy something to do then it would hasten the process.

There was a clatter as Amy pulled a cupboard open and the dishes, that Dean was supposed to put away, tumbled out. Luckily, the red-head was saved any injury by her husband's quick reflexes. However, Dean was not as lucky.

"DEAN WINCHESTER," Amy cried, "YOU GET IN HERE AND CLEAN THESE DISHES, RIGHT NOW!"

The hunter had the good grace to look slightly sheepish. "But, Amy, I'm tryin' to explain the delicate nature of human games to our good buddy, Cas."

"I am sure Sam is adequate enough of a teacher to complete your arduous task, Dean." Castiel said. Dean gave his angel a betrayed look. He grumbled underneath his breath about angels not knowing where their loyalties lie as he moved towards the kitchen, ignoring Sam's murmured '_I think you hurt his feelings_'.

Rory stepped out of the kitchen, followed by Amy, and turned to Sherlock. "Um, Sherlock – why did you put a head in the refrigerator?"

"I'm testing the coagulation of saliva after death." Sherlock said smoothly, depositing his tea on the table. In the chair adjacent, John scooped up the cup and took his own sip – utterly absorbed in his medical book and, therefore, ignorant of his actions. Sherlock decided not to tell him. It would only make John hysterical about germs (especially after the Holmes Health Debacle last week).

Rory took on a disgusted countenance. "OK, well could you move it to the other refrigerator?"

Sherlock gave a labored sigh, "No, Rory, for the simple reason that removing the head would ruin the experiment in its final – and most crucial – stages."

Amy was not satisfied. "Sherlock, we keep our food in there. I'm sure the Doctor can make something to prevent your head from getting ruined while we move it."

Sherlock was about to launch into a rant about the time it would take for the transfer to be complete, the jostling of the head itself, and the unreliability of the Doctor's less-than-trustworthy items (as shown by Incidents One, Eight, and Three earlier that year); when John's voice came from across the space.

"Just let them move the head, Sherlock. The time it would take to switch the head between the two is negligible to the effect of the outside air. Much less than when Dean left the door to the refrigerator open for several hours."

"I couldn't find the ketchup behind all that crap Sherlock jammed in there." Dean called from the kitchen. His voice turned plaintive. "And how am I supposed to eat a burger without ketchup?"

"The same way you would with it, I imagine." Sherlock snapped from his seat. "But don't worry, Dean, I'm not surprised you couldn't think of that all on your own."

"Gee, Holmes, don't you go getting' all Kelly Kindness on me," Dean said sarcastically, "Really, your ray of sunshine personality is all I need."

"I don't understand that reference. Who is Kelly? Is this another of Dean's promiscuous 'conquests'?" Castiel gave Sam a confused look. Sam held back his laughter and put his hand on one of the angel's shoulders.

"Don't worry about it, Cas. I'll explain it later." He promised. Castiel nodded solemnly and turned back to his hunt for the ever elusive Waldo.

"I'm sure I could build something for your head, Sherlock." The Doctor said, "I'll just need a few things."

"Is this _a few things_ like stuff from the local market, or stuff where we'll have to rush off to space to get it and probably be killed – again – in the process?" Rory asked. The sad thing was that it was a legitimate question.

Castiel spoke again, "One cannot be killed more than once, Rory."

"This coming from the man that has raised people from the dead – _including _Sherlock," John said.

"They had only been killed once when I raised them. None of them have died a second time." Castiel said. If it was anyone else, his tone would have been described as 'argumentative' – but it was Cas and Cas didn't _do _arguments.

"Except Dean." Sam chimed in.

In the kitchen, Dean muttered mutinously. "Everyone's a fuckin' critic."

"Technically, I didn't die. I was severely injured." Sherlock said blithely.

John erupted. "The only _reason _you didn't die was because Castiel saved you!"

"The reason I didn't die was because I planned my trajectory perfectly." Sherlock's eyes narrowed at John. Part of him recognized that John was irrationally angry, but the larger part of him wished John would move on – he was alive, wasn't he? It was better to have Sherlock nearly die than to put John in unnecessary danger (any danger, his brain supplied unhelpfully).

The room was heavy with tension – the only sound was Dean moving things around in the kitchen as Amy stared at Rory and Rory stared at the Doctor and the Doctor stared at John and John stared at Sherlock who was staring at the wall, resolutely.

Suddenly there was a burst of light and _Where's Waldo? _burst into flames. Sam yelped, launching himself off of the couch, and towards the door.

His voice was two octaves higher. "Jesus, Cas! You weren't supposed to 'purify' Waldo when you found him!"

Castiel cocked his head to the side. "I do not understand. Then what is the point of this game?"

Sam stared at the angel in undisguised horror. Dean laughed loudly, stepping out of the now-organized kitchen. The elder Hunter clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder, chuckling, and gathered up the ashes of the book. Castiel watched him intently as Dean got rid of the evidence of Castiel's misunderstanding.

"Maybe we shouldn't buy the angel anymore children's games." Rory suggested slowly. Subtly, he nudged the bin with all the games away from the angel in a trenchcoat. Amy bumped him with her shoulder, smiling up at her husband, but giving him a scolding look.

"I'm sure he's fine with games – we'll just have Dean explain them to him."

"Last time Dean explained something Castiel almost screwed Cluedo up as much as Sherlock." The Doctor inputted, fingering his bow tie.

"The game is wrong!" Sherlock defended.

"You're wrong." The group chorused.

Sherlock's eyes darkened. Yes, he most definitely had a migraine.

/

Dean didn't like these odds. He didn't like them at all. He and Cas were facing down a team of unbeatable enemies. Each armed to the teeth with weapons that he had no hopes of facing, with or without a warehouse of celestial power by his side. The giant demon of the group's grin was absolutely feral. The leader of the team has a calm sort of brevity that sets Dean's hackles on edge. And the smallest of the three is simply distant, eyes far away from the situation at hand.

He would be their undoing.

Dean grinned. In an instant, Dean launched himself forward towards his enemy, arm outstretched, and missed.

Cas was next to him in a second, hauling him up easily. Dean clapped him on the back, thanking him. Around them, the voices echoed – the method of dispersion of the demons impressed Dean (though he'd be loathed to admit it). They separated as a unit, moving fluidly across the clearing.

"I can't believe you missed, Dean!" Sam jeered from the other side of the clearing. "What happened to your 'lightening' reflexes? Did they disperse in the rain?"

Dean scowled at his brother. "Don't you insult me with your geek-speak, Sammy."

From beside him, Cas spoke. "Why are we playing tag?"

"It's called _chase_, and we need to train you for long-distance running." Sherlock's logical voice came from out of freakin' nowhere. Dean turned to the area where he thought Sherlock was. He growled darkly.

"I'll show you long-distance running." Dean muttered mutinously. Just ask Cas voiced a curious question.

"Why do I have to learn to run? Flight seems the most opportune method of arrival." Castiel said. He moved, stretching his back as if preening his wings.

"Except you tend to crash rather than land," John said, "As I recall, the first time I met you, you broke through the window."

The memory struck John with almost as much surprising force as Cas hit the window – crashing into the flat, right in front of Mrs. Hudson. The image of a man crashing through the lower window, with dark wing-like figures sprawled from him, was sure to induce the catatonic state that John found her in. Sherlock, in all his Sherlockian 'glory' (more like pompousness, in John's opinion), descended quietly; John watched in shock as Sherlock greeted the angel calmly.

Well, greeted the unconscious form of the angel.

(John will later find out how much it should have terrified him to see Castiel's wings. Unless the angel was close to death, the wings ought to be hidden.)

"You _know _him?" John had asked in shock. Sherlock had merely given him a once-over and a half-smile.

"During my tenure in America, I had the pleasure of meeting the Winchesters," The way he said pleasure, though, made John think it was anything but. "and helping to hunt down a demon."

"A…demon?" John was starting to think he ought to just not ask so many questions. It would certainly make for an easier, less stupid-feeling life.

Sherlock merely ignored John, grabbing the angel roughly and hauling him upstairs. For two weeks they rested Castiel and made sure he didn't try any more of his – eloquently described – "long distance cheating" while he was staying.

Eventually – about a week later – the Winchesters showed up at the door, looking for Cas, and never really left. There were plenty of demons to hunt in London town – most of which were under the control of Moriarty. Though it was never said aloud, they appreciated having somewhere to go back to at the end of the day.

(With home cooked biscuits and lukewarm tea and jokes and laughter; things they never had in abundance in America)

At the moment, however, Dean was not appreciative of the grouping. With Sherlock on the other team, the strategy of the Destiel team (as decreed by team Johnlockam, as revenge) was more Cas saving Dean's ass and Dean diving headfirst into danger.

"Perhaps a different strategy could be employed." Cas suggested after the third rescue.

"You don't have to keep saving me!" Dean snapped, not unkindly. "I'm not some damsel in a poufy dress!"

"You do not wear dresses." Castiel said. Then paused. "Dean?"

"I don't wear dresses, Cas!" Dean cried. _Though you do like panties, apparently _Dean's mind supplied unhelpfully.

_One time_! He barked back.

From behind there was a rustle. Dean launched himself away, grabbing Cas as he went. The two went tumbling down the hill at the lip of the clearing. They landed in a graceless heap at the end of the hill, tangled together in a way that made it impossible to see where Dean ended and Castiel began.

"Should I make a Jack and Jill joke or just ask if you two had a nice tumble 'round in the grass?" John chuckled. Beside him, Sherlock smirked. Dean was about to call up and tell them where they could shove their tuffets, when Sam appeared from behind.

With a great laugh, and a giant shove, the detective and doctor went tumbling after.

"Jack and Jill are appropriate, don't cha think?" Sam said, in the midst of gales of laughter.

The four below shared a devilish look – except Cas, he just smirked – before racing back up the hill. From above, Sam squeaked (it was a manly squeak, he would later defend), and raced back to the Impala.

Behind him, a horde of angry monsters raced after.

Luckily, Sam was adept at dealing with monsters.

/

It had been three years of living with Dean and Sam (renovating the flat above to fit the additions – turns out Mrs. Turner had moved to Southern London a month ago before) when the Doctor showed up. He arrived in the middle of the flat – almost on top of Dean's tool kit – and popped his head out.

"Ah! Sherlock, d'you have those notes I left here earlier?" He asked, popping out of the doors, and striding over to the seated detective. John pointed easily to the desk, where a large stack of papers lies in an organized chaos only associated with Sherlock Holmes.

The Doctor grabbed the notes and turned back to the TARDIS – facing a gaping Sam and Dean Winchester. Castiel merely stared – as an angel, overseeing the planet; he had former knowledge of the Doctor. However, there was never a need to confront him. America had its protectors in the form of leather jackets, plaid shirts, and classic cars; Britain had its own, with tweed jackets (or leather or pinstripes or what have you), companions, and an alien spaceship.

"Who the…what the…" Sam didn't seem able to get any words out. But Dean, as was his instinct, grabbed his gun from the table and pointed it straight at the Doctor.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded.

The Doctor frowned. "Always with the guns!"

With a gun still level at the Doctor's face, Amy and Rory poked their heads out. "Doctor, what's going on?"

"Nothing, Rory, just go back in the TARDIS." The Doctor suggested. Following their own code, the married couple stepped fully out of the TARDIS. Sherlock rose from his seat.

"Dean, do stop being a moron – for the love of God, don't be Anderson about this." He exasperated. Dean lowered the weapon, but didn't put it down completely.

It took three hours and twenty minutes to explain the Doctor to the Winchesters. Mostly because Dean couldn't get his head around the TARDIS or the regeneration; the idea of 'bigger on the inside' and 'born again' just didn't stick.

"All that you've seen, and _that_ gets you?" John asked incredulously.

"Hey," Dean defended, "I was never shoved in a new body or put in a closet that was actually the size of a castle, OK?"

"I'm just amazed at the technology." Sam said adoringly, putting a hand hesitantly on the woodwork of the TARDIS doors.

"It gets old." Rory said from his perch on the couch.

"Yeah," Amy said, "Once you get lost for the third time, it loses its charm."

The Doctor turned a frown in their direction. "I'm doing my best not to be insulted."

"I ended up in the pool!" Amy said.

"So?"

"I was looking for the movie room!"

"Some people watch movies in pools! Right, John?" The Doctor turned for support.

"I've had some bad experiences with pools, so, you're on your own mate." John said – shuddering from the memory of a bomb strapped to his chest.

"Wait, a bomb?" Dean asked curiously. Bombs he knew. He knew weapons and destruction, let the alien stuff be handled by Cas (a type of alien, himself) and Sam; he could handle the rest.

"Another story for another time," Sherlock dismissed, taking a sip of his tea. Quickly, before any more stories could be divulged and any more incredulity could be expressed, the Doctor and his companions made their escape. With a promise of returning, they faded out of existence.

/

They didn't live a normal life. The Doctor popped in when he felt like it – sometimes smiling, sometimes lost. Dean and Sam still went on hunts – disappearing for weeks at a time, but always found their way back. And Sherlock and John still investigated crimes, attracting trouble to their humble home.

But Sam cooked and Dean watched TV and Sherlock read and John blogged and they lived a relatively normal life.

"Dean, where have you put the fingers that were in the cupboard?"

"I tossed them, they had mold on 'em."

"They were supposed to! It was an experiment."

"Sorry, Shirley."

"_Don't call me Shirley_."

"I'll pick up some new ones at St. Barts."

"It's not the same!"

Not to say they didn't have their own troubles.

"Sherlock Holmes, put that gun away!"

"Run, Dean!"

/

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**Aimlessly Unknown**


	2. Family Photo Or Not

SUPERWHOLOCK 2

Summary: /"Amy, maybe a 'family photograph' isn't the best of ideas." "Hush, Rory; now, Dean, stop pulling at your tie!"/ Where in, they try to do things Family Style. It doesn't work.

/

They blame Sam for the Disaster.

Amy would never have had the Idea if Sam hadn't suggested it.

So they blame Sam.

"I blame you," Dean growled under his breath at his baby brother. He shuffled, uncomfortably, in his suit – tugging angrily on the torture device around his neck as if it would fall away in defeat. "This is _your _fault."

Sam turned a doubtful eye. "I'm sure she'd have thought of it without me."

"I disagree. The chances of Amy thinking of this all on her own and then acting upon it are low without encouragement from an outside party." Castiel said, appearing beside Dean. He had tucked in his shirt and straightened his tie – he was even out of his trenchcoat for the occasion. Beside him, Dean pointed at Castiel, as if the angel had just made his statement a fact rather than an accusation.

Sam frowned. Without any support from Cas or from his older brother, the youngest Winchester turned back to face the Doctor and Rory – both of whom were dressed up in their best suits; lest they incur Amy's wrath. They were in a strange debate about whether or not Rory was to be called, "Mr. Pond". Sam joined Rory in explaining to the Doctor why Amy was, instead, "Mrs. Williams".

Across the way from them, the consulting detective was scowling darkly. But John looked absolutely chuffed.

"Come on Sherlock, it's not so bad." John encouraged. He didn't mind getting a photograph. In fact, he was quite pleased with it. It would be nice to have a memory of them being upstanding, rather than the several less-than-sophisticated photos that Sam had taken.

(Though John did love those; it was refreshing to see them in their natural habitat, as it was)

"On the contrary, John; in the time it has taken for Amelia to get sorted and arrange all of us, no less than two crimes have been committed, and yet – instead of rushing off to Lestrade's aid – we are stuck in this menial, dull task of taking a photograph that will inevitably be lost within the month." Sherlock rattled off, eyebrows tucked together in his ire.

"You never want to 'rush off'!" John pointed out. "You always make them wait, as if you're the Queen of bloody England!"

"Compared to them, I may as well be." Sherlock said snippily. He _hated _this. There was no pleasure in this, each particle of possibly enjoyment had been seeped from him in the knowledge that something interesting was going on elsewhere.

John rolled his eyes, bowing slightly. "Well, your Majesty, we lowly men be beggin' your pardon for botherin' ya with our presence and demands."

"Don't self-deprecate, John. It's unbecoming." Sherlock said curtly.

Dean piped up, "Hey, Shirley, lay off of John."

"_Don't_. _Call_. _Me_. _Shirley_." Sherlock bit out. His eyes flashed a darkened navy as they bore into Dean, trying to make him combust spontaneously.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Sherlock, someone just get Amy so we can get this over with. Sammy and I have a hunt to get to."

"We do?" Sam asked from next to Rory.

"I found one in Kent. Probably a ghost, but so far it's only killed one person each month. So we've got, about, three weeks." Dean explained easily, nudging Castiel next to him. "You ready for a ghost hunt, Cas?"

"Unfortunately I've already promised my services to the Doctor for the next week." Castiel said. "He required my expertise in a matter."

Dean froze. Castiel wouldn't be going? Cas wasn't going to spend time with him – er, them? Part of him radiated rage; how dare the Doctor think he could take Cas? Didn't he know that Castiel was _his_ – er, the Winchesters?

"Oh, relax, Dean," The Doctor said easily, budging up next to the Hunter. "It's a quick pop over to Extair VI."

"And why do you need Cas for that?" Sam voiced Dean's inquiry, although, much more politely than Dean would have.

"The people of the planet are exceptionally religious. If we have an angel, they may be more lenient." The Doctor explained. "Even if it's only a human's version of an angel."

"Lenient?" Rory asked. "You said we were going to check out the whirlpools!"

"We are," The Doctor said, "Except doing that is against the law. So having a 'get out of jail free' card might be important, Roranicus."

"You're taking us to _break the law_?" Rory said. His eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. His suit suddenly felt two sizes too tight. Then he shrugged sarcastically, "We're dead. That's what's going to happen – we're going to die." Rory deadpanned. "I'm going to die, _again_!"

Just then, Amy walked into the room. Lovingly tucked in her hands was a camera – Rory immediately recognized it as the same camera they had used to take their honeymoon pictures. Then, ignoring the camera, he stared at Amy. Her hair was done up, pulled into a ponytail, and she was wearing a mini-skirt with a dark black vest; he smiled warmly at her.

She gave him a coy smile which he returned. Then, he stepped forward, pressing a delightfully sweet kiss on her lips. She returned it with half-attention, focusing on setting the camera on the tripod so that she could make her way into the picture before the camera went off. Rory watched as she fumbled with the camera's timing sequence.

"Let me," He said gently, taking her hands off of the camera. Then he spent five minutes fiddling with the blasted thing before he finally figured out how to set the timer. Proudly, he leaned back, slinging an arm over Amy's shoulders cockily. His ginger wife nudged him none too kindly in the ribs, causing him to look away. "Right, I'll just go over there, shall I?"

"Go on, stand next to Dean." Amy's voice was full of authority as she called. "Alright, everyone squish together."

There is a slight kerfuffle as the group squished together as per Amy's command. Dean, unpleasantly lodged between Sherlock and the Doctor, swung his shoulders – trying to make room but inevitably hitting the Doctor. The alien yelped, rubbing his shoulder.

"Watch it," Sherlock snapped, stepping out of range of Dean's limbs. The eldest Winchester shrugged, happy to have some breathing room. Behind him, Sam hit Dean and glared at him – nonverbally telling him to stop aggravating Sherlock.

John, standing beside Sherlock, rested a reassuring arm on Sam. Then, he leaned forward. "Dean, if we stay still I'm sure this will be over with sooner."

"Exactly," Amy piped up, "Now everyone _stand still_."

Rory, watching the goings-on, cast a nervous eye at the open spot next to Dean. It wasn't that Rory didn't like Dean – in fact, Dean and Rory had grown quite close – but Rory was no fool, and standing, cramped against Dean, was just begging to invoke an injury of some sort. The man was as restless as anything Rory had ever known.

'Side effect of hunting monsters,' He thought. And Dean didn't have someone like the Doctor to make it all better, to save the day (usually). Dean had to rely on himself.

"Amy, maybe a 'family photograph' isn't the best of ideas." He suggested.

"Hush, Rory; now, Dean, stop pulling at your tie!" Amy said. Dean's hands dropped back to his side, the tie now hanging askew on his neck. Amy groaned, exasperated.

"Well now you look ridiculous." She exclaimed.

Castiel removed himself from his slot beside Sam and turned Dean around. Quietly, Castiel fixed Dean's tie. The Hunter stared at his angel, watching Castiel's spidery fingers tweak at his neck-tie, effortlessly turning it back into a pristine pinnacle to ties everywhere.

"How'd you get so good at that?" Dean asked. "I thought angels of the Lord had 'no need to know such menial things'."

Castiel turned his eyes up to Dean. "As I have found myself spending more and more time here, I found it prudent to learn all that I could about human tasks."

Sherlock nodded, appreciating the refreshing bout of logic. Castiel stepped back next to Sam and Dean turned back to the camera. Dean pressed his palm to the knot of the tie, loosening it just a bit. Amy looked back at them, from the camera, and grinned broadly.

"Alright," She cheered. "Everyone line up!"

From beside her, Rory grasped her hand in his, and led her to the rest of the group. Sherlock shuffled in his spot with a stony face, John nudged him gently but smiled up at the camera. Sam grinned, slinging his arm over Castiel's shoulder, and Dean smirked into the camera – one hand on Sherlock's shoulder and the other giving a thumbs-up. The Doctor smiled broadly, arms spread to cover both Dean and Rory's shoulders. Amy was leaning into Rory's chest, smiling serenely, with her Roman's arms around her waist protectively.

The camera gave a shudder as a small _click_ went off.

"Brilliant," The Doctor said, stepping away from Dean. "Now that that's done, off to Extair VI!"

"No, Doctor," Amy said sternly. "We've got to get this developed and framed."

The Doctor's face fell into, what could only be described as, a pout. "Can't John do it? I'm sure he'd love it! He loves domestic stuff!"

"Should I be offended by that?" John asked nobody. Next to him, Sherlock gave a small half-smile. The Doctor moved forward to argue with Amy just as Sam let out a sneeze. Under normal circumstances that would mean little to nothing. However, Sam had his arms around Castiel and his sneeze rocked his arms forward, shoving Castiel straight into Dean. In turn, Dean yelped and dropped forward as a wave of celestial intent crammed in a meat-suit fell on top of him.

In the middle of his fall, the Hunter's hand caught on the Doctor's jacket – tugging him backwards and into John. The short man held up as best he could, rocking back but not falling; instead he shoved the Doctor upright a little too hard, knocking him into Rory and causing Amy to topple over with her husband.

The camera _click_ed.

"What was that?" John asked, turning to Sherlock – the only one unaffected by the chaos that had erupted from one sneeze. The detective stepped away from the tangled pile of people at his feet, tugging John as he went.

At John's questioning glance, Sherlock smirked. "I was merely saving you from the impending hurricane."

"Hurricane? Sherlock we're insid—" John was cut off by Dean's strangled grunt from the bottom of the pile as his limbs began flailing – shoving the Doctor and Castiel off of him. Both non-humans were air-lifted by Dean's limbs and sent sprawling to John's feet.

"Hurricane Dean strikes once more." Sherlock said.

Dean's voice was rough with exertion. "If your voice was any drier, it would be the Sahara."

"I'm surprised you know what the Sahara is, Dean." Sherlock replied.

"I have to know," Dean snapped. "Where else would I bury your body after I _kill you_?"

"Ah, family bonding," Sam said, reaching down to haul his brother off of the ground. Beside him, John helped Castiel stand. "Just like Christmas at Bobby's."

"Isn't that a movie?" Amy asked from her position beneath Rory.

"No, you're thinking of Breakfast at Tiffany's," Sam explained. "Another movie that reminds me of this,"

"How the hell does this remind you of that chick-flick?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "You seem bitchy like Holly was."

"Bitch." Dean retorted hotly.

"I believe Sam has just deigned you the bitch." Castiel said, cocking his head to the side. "Or are you both bitches?"

Neither of the Winchesters could hold a straight face, both of the brothers burst into gales of laughter. There was nothing funnier than hearing an angel, of the Lord, call two humans a pair of _bitches_.

While the rest of the group caused a ruckus (each taking turns teasing Castiel for his vulgarity, while Castiel defended himself – claiming that it was simply a part of their vernacular and why were they laughing at him? Dean? Please, explain.) John wandered over to the camera.

"Hey, guys." He said, interrupting the festivities. "You may want to come see these."

Moving as one, the group surged forward towards the camera. John inclined the camera towards them, pressing the review button. The first of the two was the most formal, with each of them standing beside one another – buttoned up and taut, smiling like mannequins. John clicked next.

The next picture was, with no other words to describe it, _iconic_. With Dean and Cas crushed together, each wearing a face of disbelief and embarrassment at their close proximity, and Sam looming above them – half in the air. The Doctor was half-cocked, slipping to the ground, with Dean's meaty hand gripping his tweed coat for dear life. As the Doctor leaned precariously on John, his face became the makings of its own comedy movie, twisted into a comical combination of distress and amusement. Amy was clawing at mid-air as Rory twisted into her, both of their faces smooshed together.

Though, John found himself laughing less at Dean's face, and more at Sherlock's amused one as the tall detective stood back, avoiding the mess completely.

"Now, _that_," The Doctor said softly, watching the chaos that could only be borne from friendship. "Is a keeper."

Each of them murmured their assent, their respective smiles overtaking their faces.

/

Three weeks later, when the Doctor and his group returned and Dean and Sam returned, John motioned all of them into the family room.

Sitting there, on the mantle, was a blown up – framed – version of the picture. The second picture.

"Hey, how come you guys get it in your apartment?!"

"This is the family room, Dean. It's for all of us."

"Oh, sure, you say that, but it's still _your_ flat, John."

"Don't be so petulant, Dean."

"Shut up, Holmes."

"C'mon, Dean, it's not so bad. We can always get another for our apartment."

"Traitor."

"I am not a traitor!"

"Sure you're not, Judas."

"I understood that reference."

"Well, good for you, Cas!"

"Was that sarcasm?"

"All of you shut up! We're having a moment!"

"Amy, I don't think yelling—"

"Oh, hush, Rory!"

"Oh for God's sake, would all of you shut up?"

"You shut up, WE'RE HAVING A MOMENT."


End file.
